Breathe
by TiKiElf
Summary: Oneshot. Draco Malfoy teaches Hermione Granger on how to breathe.


Title: Breathe

Author: TiKiElf

Summary: Draco Malfoy teaches Hermione Granger on how to breathe.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Have you ever seen an autumn leaf falls? Well… that's how he fell. Gracefully. Naturally. And with a small smile at the corner of his lips, as if his eminent death was the most beautiful thing that could have happened to him. And if you have heard about the story behind that smile, then you would be at peace as well, and smile as I do now by just reminiscing the moment.

(_Inhale_)

(_Exhale_)

How I could just smell the air on that day. And I would smell it still if ever I've inhaled a waft of the potion Amortentia. The air – it was musky, and heavy, and fresh. It smelt of loose brown earth, and fresh spring water, and an early bloom of May's flowers. It smelt of sweat, and tears (_happy_), and copper (_blood_). It smelt of a hint of my perfume, his cologne, our kisses… And if you were to push out your tongue on that day – that _moment_ – you could just barely taste the sweet and bitterness of the air. And it was beautiful.

And if ever I was an optimist, I would have simply describe it none the lesser than –

Perfect.

* * *

"Granger."

His breath was heavy with moisture and it licked my neck fiercely, leaving a damp trail from the back of my left ear to my collarbone. I'd almost shivered – in fear? anger? joy? - but there was a more pressing matter at hand. In particular, the wand that was jabbing sharply at the small of my back.

I'd forgotten to breathe.

In my mixed hysteria of joyous accomplishment and a sudden gripping fear, I lost my wits and held my breath. I found _him_ at last. _Him_, of all people, whom others had forgotten and forsaken. _Him_, whom others would prefer to be acknowledge as dead, rather than living with the burden of searching to what had become of him since The Day. _Him_, whom had haunted my thoughts almost as much as my worries for the safekeeping of my friends. And it was _him_, whom I had been looking for, for the past four months.

And now he's here, keeping me at wand-point. _How wonderful. _

"Granger."

He hissed my name this time, almost as if he was impatient with the wait. And that's when I noticed the gradual sharp digging pain at my back. He's waiting for an answer but I don't know what sort of answer he was looking for. As far as I remembered, he didn't ask me anything. But I know the unspoken question that lay curled on his tongue, but too heavy to be voiced.

_What are you doing here?_

And how could I even justify an answer to that? My sanity would be horribly questioned if I was to say, "_I was worried about you." _But there isn't anymore blunter answer to it, really. I could, however, comfort myself with the sorry excuse that I was simply very _very_ curious about whatever happened to _him _since The Day. But anyone who had seen my quiet desperation to find _him_ for the past months could see the blatant truth: I cared for him. I cared for his well-being.

And yes, I'm aware that my sanity would again be questioned and I'm sure if Ron hears a wind of it, he would suggest I'd be sent to St. Mungo's Janus Thickey ward, where long-term and irreversible spell damaged-victim would be treated. (_Not that he would know the exact name of the ward_.) But how could I justify myself to another person, when I can't even do the same to myself?

The wand at my back was almost poking thru to my bones now, and his left hand clutched at my shoulder tightly until I could see the whites of his knuckles. I bit my lips – at the indecision whether to answer his unspoken question and to stop myself from letting out a cry at the pain.

And before I had the next chance to blink, he spun me around and pushed me up against a wall; one hand still gripping hard on my shoulder and the other, holding his wand steady against my stomach.

If I was not holding my breath, I would've lost my wind when he had spun me, and would've forgotten to breathe again at the sight of _him._ Because the face that I had been looking for was not the face that's staring back at me now. I'm looking at a stranger, but this stranger had somehow stolen the eyes of someone I once knew. (_And I'm starting to wonder, spell-wise, if it was physically possible. Perhaps it is. And maybe the person that I've been looking for are lying motionless somewhere, eye-less.)_

But before that thought could stray any further, his face inches mine until his breath tickles my nose. And I swallowed hard; the hysteria gone now and replacing it was a new found fear. Fear of this stranger and what he's capable of, if he's able to steal another person's eyes. And my palms feels clammy and my forehead burning with a tin sheet of sweat. And I swallowed again.

His gray icy eyes (no, not_ his_ eyes) are searching mine, and I could see a glint of amusement in them. And I fear more of what the stranger are thinking in his head. (_Most probably devising a cruel plan to do on me_.) He leans nearer; his face barely an inch away from mine, separated only by our bumped noses; the wand digging into my stomach and I had the sense enough to clench it inwards. I blinked, and now his lips are on mine – just barely touching – and there was a deep grumble somewhere at the base of his throat, and I shuddered. Because I knew that he was laughing at me. And I had to close my eyes tightly shut to fence against the humiliation.

In the darkness I heard him whisper against my lips,

"Breathe."

I'd almost forgotten about that.

I threw my eyes wide open and gasped hungrily for air. The weight of the body that was checking against mine was no longer there. And when my eyes had adjusted to the dim lights of the room, I realized that so has he.

* * *

Outside the door of the room, two figures stood hunched together, conversing in hushed and solemn voices. One of them was wearing lime-green robes, and the other, a weary expression.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, but it's the only way she'd take the potion.

…

It seems that she had forgotten how to breathe on her own. And my duty is to come in here every day with transfigured eyes – _his_ eyes – and try to coax her to breathe again.

…

She… she always tends to take herself back to a certain memory, as you had just seen, and I would slip her the potion in such a manner.

…

I do hope you won't take the slightest offence in this manner of healing, but it's the best we could do for her now.

…

I… I'm just curious though.

…

How did _he_ die?"

Ronald Weasley finally looked up from his heavy thoughts to regard the Healer's question.

"He died in his sleep, on their bed, beside her."

And the Healer nodded solemnly, as if in understanding. But in truth he couldn't know the full weight of this news without knowing the history between _him_ and _her_.

And if you were to visit Hermione Granger one day, she would sit you down and tell you a story. And this is how the story goes.

"Have you seen an autumn leaf falls?"


End file.
